Unlikely Love: A Romance Single (12 page)

“Strawberries,” he laughed nervously pointing to the fruit basket sitting next to the makeup on the counter.

Marcus narrowed his eyes on his before pushing Delilah out of the door, and towards the stage. It took all of her strength not to burst out laughing.

The minute the lights hit her and the music started to pound, she felt at home. The drama and the politics behind the music melted away, because it's what she was born to do. She was performing a song called '
Fight 4 Love
', which the label selected as her first mainland Europe single. It was a cheesy dance number that she'd helped to co-write. As a teen, Delilah would write all of her own music, but the second she was signed, the pen was peeled out of her hand and given to a whole host of other people. It's like they didn't trust her. She'd insisted on being present in all of the song writing sessions, and most of the writers that came in, let her have input, but not as much as she'd like. '
Music is money!
' is something Tony would chant at her every time she requested more control.

The production company for
'Música Increíble'
provided a troupe of backing dancers for her, and they had the choreography down to a fine art. It was the same choreography she'd been doing for
'Fight 4 Love'
every time they'd performed it, so she knew it inside out without needing to rehearse.

After the third run through the song, they'd ironed out most of the camera angles and light tricks, and with the assistance of Nolan, it went easier than Delilah had expected. Every time she danced and sung, she'd catch Nolan out of the corner of her eye watching her, as if mesmerized. One time when their eyes met, he actually gave her a thumbs up, which made her start giggling in the middle of the chorus.

“How am I doing?” she sat on the edge of the stage as she sipped water through a straw.

Normally makeup artists would swarm in to touch her up, but they didn't seem to bother for a rehearsal.

“Wow, is all I can say,” Nolan beamed at her, “seriously, you have it. Whatever '
it
' is, you have '
it
'.”

Coming from Nolan, that meant more than it had ever meant coming from anyone. She knew she could sing and move, but it frustrated her every time she got on the stage that she wasn't singing her own songs the way she wanted.

“Are you sure?” she put the water on the side.

She caught the backing dancers limbering up and stretching, ready for another run-through. Marcus was marching around the audience section of the studio, holding his phone up trying to get a signal, and the producers and directors were mumbling to themselves, pointing at areas of the stage as they consulted their clipboards and headsets.

“Honestly Delilah, you can really sing.”

“You sound surprised,” she laughed, wrinkling her nose.

“I'm a little surprised,” he jumped up on the stage and sat next to her.

He rested his shoulder against hers.

“Singing is all I wanted to do. Ever since I was a little girl. It's all I could see for myself.”

“When I watched your videos on the internet, I thought you'd be just another cookie cutter pop star, but you have a set of lungs.”

Delilah hated being called '
cookie cutter
'. It was a term that was thrown at her a lot in the press, along with '
fake
', '
puppet
' and '
manufactured
'. She knew aspects of her career were all of those things, but the more she fought for control, the harder it seemed to get.

“Do you think there's too much playback,” she asked, “especially on the verses? I feel like I'm being drowned out.”

“A little bit,” he nudged her with his shoulder and pointed his head in the direction of the producer who was walking past them, but looking at the floor as if trying not to catch the eye of the 'demanding talent'.

“You there!” Delilah called, pointing to the man.

He stopped and lifted his head. Even from a distance, she heard the deep sigh leave his throat.

“Mí?” he pointed to himself as he glanced nervously at his clipboard, letting Delilah know he had somewhere more important to be.

“Translate,” she nudged Nolan, “tell him I want the playback turning down and I want to sing fully.”

Nolan rattled off some words in Spanish, but the producer just rolled his eyes and sighed again. He returned something to Nolan, and Delilah stared at him, waiting for a translation.

“He said no,” Nolan sucked air into his teeth slowly, “he said it stays like it is.”

“I'm sick of this,” she mumbled to herself jumping off the stage.

She brushed past the producer, making sure to barge into his shoulder as she did. Marching across the studio, she felt the venom boiling in her veins, and the years of being told what to do by stuffy men in clipboards was bubbling to the surface, and the poor Spanish producer was the one who was going to take the blow.

She marched all the way to the sound box at the back of the audience area, pushing every runner, stylist, editor, director and producer out of her way. Hurricane Delilah was in full force.

“Mic,” she barked at the man fiddling with the sound and lighting.

“Qué?” the man screwed up his face, not really acknowledging her.

“Microphone!” she cried loudly, “El Microphone? Microphonique? Just give me a damn microphone!”

She screwed up her fist and stuffed it in front of her mouth. The man rolled his eyes, similarly to how the producer had done, and tossed her a microphone. Tapping on the mesh, it echoed throughout the studio, letting her know she was live.

“Oi, producer,” her East London accent in full force, “listen up Señor!”

Slowly, she started to walk back down the stairs, through the crowd of people she'd pushed her way through. The talking lowered to a gentle murmur, until the entire place was silent and every pair of eyes was on her. The only sound came from Marcus talking very loudly into his phone outside of the studio.

Gently, she closed her eyes and opened her mouth. She didn't know what she was going to sing until she hit the first note. All she kept thinking was '
show them what you can do girl
'. It was something her mother used to say to her before any gig or audition. She was the one who had the faith in Delilah since the beginning, even if she didn't herself.

When the words came out, she realized she'd taken on the chorus of the most difficult song she'd ever tried to sing, Whitney Houston's '
I Will Always Love You
'. She could feel nerves bubbling at her exposed voice, but it didn't show. Her voice traveled around the studio, captivating every single person as she performed every run, lick and high note with complete perfection. As she walked through the crowd, she made sure to pace herself so that she'd hit the grand finale of the song in the producer's face.

It wasn't his fault, but Delilah felt like she was singing to every man who had told her to be quiet and sit in the corner. She held the note for as long as she could. Her face screwed up, she could feel the veins in the side of her head popping to the surface and her skin burned and her lungs screamed out. With one last run, she dropped the microphone from her mouth and dropped her head, letting her hair fall over her face.

The second her lips were closed, the trance ended, and she was fully aware of what she'd just done. She left her head bowed as she panted for air for what felt like an eternity. It was only a couple of seconds before somebody started to slow clap, until the entire studio erupted into a barrage of applause. She opened her eyes, but they darted right past the producer, to Nolan, who jumped down from the edge of the stage. He laughed in disbelief and muttered '
wow
' to himself and joined in the applause.

“Nolan, ask him again,” a smile spread across Delilah's face as the applause roared out throughout the studio.

Marcus wandered in, dropping his phone from his ear. He joined in the applause, but he had no idea why he was clapping. Nolan repeated the question to the producer and the producer tapped his earpiece, looking up to the director's box that looked over the studio. He mumbled something into it, bowing his head and pressing it to his ear.

“Sí,” he smiled at Delilah and tapped her on the shoulder.

He turned to Nolan and rapidly fired something at him, before prizing the microphone from Delilah's hand and scurrying off to carry on with his work.

“What did he say?”

“They'll alter the levels for the next run-through to see how it goes,” Nolan smiled and walked over to her.

Delilah breathed a sigh of relief. She glanced over her shoulder, and the people were rushing around and barking things at each other in Spanish. She hadn't made a complete fool of herself, and she'd managed to prove her talent to a room full of strangers who didn't speak her language, with the power of her voice. If only Tony could see her right now.

“Where did that come from?” Nolan still looked in shock.

“Frustration?” she laughed.

“I've never seen anything like it,” Nolan shook his head, “every single jaw in this place dropped when you hit that note at the end.”

“Really?” she'd been in such a trance, she didn't even remember.

Her mouth opened, and what came naturally to her, happened.

“Really!” Nolan laughed again, taking another step towards her, “I'm so proud of you."

The words struck Delilah in the chest, and they made her feel warm inside. Why should she care what a man she'd only known for a few days thought about her? Why should she care if a man she barely knew was '
proud
' of her? Deep down, she'd wanted to prove herself to Nolan as well. She wanted to prove she was more than the diva he'd first met or the demanding and stuck-up character that she'd turned into.

In such a short time, he'd managed to chip away at the perfect veneer, and he'd let the real Delilah Smith out, and it felt so good.

“That means a lot,” she looked down to the ground and studied her impossibly high shoes.

“You really are something, Delilah,” his voice lowered to that deep whisper she liked so much.

He walked over towards her wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight embrace. He squeezed her tiny body into his, and she returned the hug by wrapping her arms around his waist. She didn't feel the tickling in her stomach like she usually did. She felt an ache in her heart. An ache for a man she barely knew, but didn't want to lose.

“Delilah?” Marcus' outraged voice broke up the hug.

“What?” she snapped.

“What's all this,” he wagged his finger all over Nolan, practically pulling them apart.

“Don't you have things to do?”

She felt angry at Marcus for ruining the moment.

“Hmm,” Marcus pursed his lips together and narrowed his snake-like eyes on her.

His eyebrow rose, and he titled his head back slightly, letting her know that he was on to her. In that instant, she knew exactly what he was thinking, and who he was thinking about. André.

“I'm going to find the little boys room,” Nolan smiled to them both before excusing himself.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Marcus dragged her to the side of the stage, mumbling in an angry whisper, “Tony will kill you if this gets out!”

“If what gets out?”

“Thing is, I'm not stupid. I see the way he looks at you, and I see the way you look at him.”

“So?” she shrugged, wriggling her hand free of his.

“Do I need to remind you who's joining us on the end of our trip?” he tilted his head and crossed his arms, like a disapproving father.

“About that -”

“It's all arranged,” he shot her down, suddenly becoming forceful, “André has to come here.”

“Oh come off it Marcus, I've hardly had a conversation with the man. He's nothing more than a slice of eye candy.”

“Exactly!” Marcus lowered his voice again, “And he has to come, don't you understand?”

He widened his eyes to Delilah, as if trying to tell her something without actually saying the words. Dumbfounded, she stared at him, feeling the wrinkles in between her eyebrows folding together through the makeup, as she tried to figure out what he was telling her. The light bulb went off and it took all of Delilah's strength not to punch her assistant square in the chest.

“This is a set-up, isn't it?"

She thought back to how André even found out about her trip to Spain. He'd called her out of the blue telling her that he was working close by and he'd join her. The label happily extended her trip and canceled her engagements, so she could spend some time with her French model boyfriend. It all suddenly felt too convenient.

“Do you get it now?”

“You're telling me André is only coming for a photo opportunity? Has somebody told the paparazzi he's coming here?”

“That's the whole point!” Marcus was frantic now, as if he'd already said too much, “André isn't a big star in America yet, but you are, and vise-versa. You're helping him raise his profile over there, and he's helping you over here.”

“This is a joke right?”

Delilah knew some element of their relationship was for that, but she had no idea it was on purpose. Had it been a set-up since the beginning?